Watch Me Fall

by Nora Flite

  “Yes and no,” I answered honestly. He gave me a humorless smile; it didn't improve my nerves. “You told me you'd do anything to help save the studio. Remember?”

  His hackles went up, fingers twisting the waistband of his pants. “What are you going to ask me?”

  I'd told my friends I'd see if he'd do this, but... my guts were bubbling from working up the courage. I wasn't crazy; Carter had been agitated when he was asked to dance earlier. “Bronta and Cally wanted me to talk to you about being in the show.”

  His fingers stopped tearing at his jeans. “They want me to dance?”

  I rocked on my heels, not knowing where to put my arms. They suddenly felt clunky. “Not just them. I want you to dance.” With me, was my unsaid addition.

  Carter rubbed his face, pinched the bridge of his nose. Had he always looked so drained? “God, Noel... I don't know. That's just—I don't know.”

  I spotted the sickly, wet sheen on his neck. “Carter,” I said softly, “what are you so scared of?”

  His hand froze, a curved claw over one eye. The other was staring down at me. “Nothing. Not a single thing.” It was a terrible lie. His body was screaming the truth so violently it echoed.

  “I don't get it,” I said. “Don't you want to dance with me?”

  “Of course,” he snapped, finally dropping his fist. “That's something—of course I want that.”

  “And you want to help get the Rosella Ballet program noticed again?”

  “Yes!” Deep grooves spawned from his tight eyebrows. “Fuck, yes. I want all of that. And I know I promised to help. You're not making this easier for me by pointing it out piece by piece!”

  Stepping forward, I meant to grab his arms. Amazingly, Carter backpedaled; avoided me like I was caustic acid. “What would make this easier?” I asked, frazzled by his rejection. “Carter, you can say you're not scared all you want, but it's obvious you are!”

  “I'm not!” he snarled, muscles bunching up so that his neck was hidden by his shoulders and chin. His hazel irises were lost in wide circles of white. “Stop saying I am. I'm going to do it, okay? I'll dance in your fucking show.”

  Taken aback, I willed my growing migraine away. “Why the change of heart?”

  Carter twisted towards his bike. “It wasn't a change of heart. I'd actually... I had already considered asking everyone if I could perform with them. If they'd let me.”

  I was truly lost. Inching my hand through the air, I set it on his forearm. It was a relief that he didn't shrug me off. “Then what was this all about? Why were you acting like I was suggesting you jump off a building for me?”

  Gritting his teeth, he started shaking his head and didn't stop. “Forget about it. It's not something I want to go into.” Taking my fingers, Carter wrapped them in both of his palms. He wouldn't look at me; didn't seem capable. “I'll tell everyone tomorrow. We'll make some changes, and I'll do my best to fulfill my promise to you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” It took effort to get the word out. I hated how he let me go. Hated how he climbed onto his motorcycle, revving the engine and not once glancing at me. Standing in the street, I gazed after Carter and tried to convince myself that his lies didn't matter.

  But I knew better than that.

  ****

  The sun was gone when I wandered towards the studio. In the back of my head, I was looking for Carter. If he was here, in my path, that would mean I had another chance to talk to him. I'd been out for awhile, my feet aching from both class and my own personal wanderlust.

  I needed the time to plan my thoughts.

  Three hours should have been enough.

  It wasn't.

  Streetlamps illuminated the building, the lack of glow in the windows broadcasting that no one was there at this hour. My mood deflated until I saw someone moving near the doorway. A flicker of hope filled my heart. Then, I realized whoever was there was too short to match Carter's shadow. “Mr. Vince?” I asked uncertainly, my eyes adjusting in the blackness.

  “Oh, Miss Addison!” he gasped. The blue glow on his wrist—a watch—blinked out as he let the button go. “You scared me, I didn't hear you coming.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  His mouth squished together. “Getting frustrated, to be honest. I was supposed to meet with Carter, go over the state of things after the theater visit today. He's thirty minutes late, I'm guessing he isn't coming.”

  A tiny laugh escaped me. “You waited half an hour for him to show? You must have a lot of faith in him, Mr. Vince.”

  Even in the shadows, his face looked kind when he smiled. “I suppose I do.”

  Like a bus, the clarity slammed into me. Mr. Vince hired Carter, he must know something that could help me. “Actually, that reminds me,” I said quickly. “You've known him a while now, right?”

  “Indeed. I hired him... oh, it must have been over three years ago.”

  My pulse fluttered. “This might sound rude, but why did you hire him? He's rough on the students and comes off... well, very cold.” I knew another side to Carter, but I'd be foolish to pretend he didn’t start out brisk with me. His attitude hadn't changed much towards anyone else in class.

  Vince's features softened, he leaned towards the studio wall. “Aaah well, the man he is now—the man I hired—might be cold and closed off... but the boy I knew first was anything but.”

  “You knew him as a boy?” That stunned me. “I thought... when you said you hired him three years ago, you meant that was when you met him!” Could I be blamed for my assumption? His phrasing had been slippery.

  Vince gave no hint that he thought he was being clever. A cloudy unease had entered his warm eyes. “I have known two Carter Braeburns in my lifetime. The man you see today, and the kind boy who I believe still lives inside of him.”

  Bees swarmed my brain. I had so many questions, but each just led to new ones. “I don’t understand. If he was so different as a boy, what happened?”

  Dipping his chin, the director looked leery. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.”

  Before I considered if it was appropriate, I reached out and clasped his hands. The bones felt strong, I'd expected them to be like bird wings. “Please, I need to know and I think—I think you're the only one who'll tell me.”

  “What about Carter himself?” He chuckled, brief and throaty. “No no, I suppose he hasn’t ever been forthcoming.”

  Carter was resistant to my prying. “He isn't, and Cart—Mr. Braeburn was acting strange today. If I can understand why... maybe I can help him.”

  His frown was neutral. After a moment, he slipped his hands from mine and adjusted his coat. “And you think I can tell you his reasons.”

  I had been holding my breath; I let it out. “I think you have an idea.”

  Puffing his chest, Mr. Vince looked over my head and sighed. “It's a very tragic story. He'll hate me for telling you.” The edge of his mouth lifted a hair. “Let him, though. He hates too easily.”

  My ears were straining as I listened raptly.

  “I used to teach a ballet class, oh, fourteen years ago.” He squinted a moment. “Goodness, time flies. Carter was a small boy, not the most skilled but with a great inner drive—and love—for dance.” Nostalgia transformed the man for me, made him look younger somehow. “I taught him for two years. In that time he went from a child who always smiled, always greeted me with such gusto, to a quiet boy who shrank and hid inside a shell.”

  A shell? I thought silently. Yes, that's what he has around him. Has he carried it, hid in it, for so long?

  Vince was shaking his head sadly. “He changed, and I was no fool. I suspect his home life was terrible. I never saw proof he was being beaten, but...”

  Together, we shared a disgusted shiver. My mouth was full of bitterness, barely holding my anger back. His parents had beaten him? The concept left me tense.

  “I didn't see him again until he was eighteen. I heard about him first, though, just days before laying eyes on
him... it was a terrible incident. All over the news. The poor boy, his family was...” Awash in distress, Vince closed his eyes firmly. Finally, he gathered himself and watched me closely. “They were murdered, his home burned down. Just awful.”

  The wave of sickness pushed me to one side. I would have fallen into the hedges, but Vince grabbed my shoulders. Hunched there, I dry-heaved over the green leaves. Murdered! He'd said they were dead, but... but that...

  “Maybe we should stop,” he suggested gingerly.

  “No.” Wiping my mouth, making sure I wasn't going to hurl, I stood straight. “I'm just shocked. I didn't—I wouldn't have guessed. It's terrible. Beyond terrible.” My skin felt clammy all over. “You said you saw him after seeing that in the news?”

  He hovered near me, like I might collapse any second in spite of my insistence he tell me more. “I was judging the scholarship auditions for the San Francisco Ballet school. It was shocking to see him that night.”

  “Because it had been so long?”

  Hesitating, he darted his eyes to the side. “It doesn't matter. It was just an odd time, with the murder and all. Regardless, he auditioned—and though he made some small errors, I saw in him a hint of what I'd seen when I taught him as a child. That glowing love, that passion... it doesn't show up in every dancer.” With the heavy topic, his small smile was like clean air. “He passed the audition... but it wasn't to be.”

  How can there be more to this? “Why not?”

  The older man was frozen, staring down at his shoes. I got the impression he couldn't keep going if he looked me in the eye. He was on autopilot. “Carter was assaulted. A man broke his left knee with a pipe, put him in the hospital for weeks. It was a serious tragedy.”

  Carter, his leg. I didn't want to picture the pain of having my bones broken. What kind of person could do that, injure—ruin and wreck—another human?

  Everything was woozy and mushy. “Who attacked him? Why would anyone...”

  “Please, Miss Addison, you should sit down.”

  I let him help me onto the steps in front of the studio. He joined me, the two of us staring out at the quiet street. He broke the silence first. “I don't know who or why. Evil is a real thing in this world. I imagine there is little in life as soul destroying as losing your gift, your dreams.”

  That word again. Dreams. I thought of Cally, laying in her bed as she held her stomach. She'd lost everything after being attacked, she'd fought back and clawed her way to this place... and been knocked down again. How similar her and Carter were.

  “Regardless,” he said, “I sought him out in the hospital.”

  Clenching my fingers didn't release any of the tightness in my body. “You offered him a job here.”

  Vince smiled wide. “Yes, I offered it to him. I wasn’t sure he'd come. But, once he was moving around better, he flew here and has stayed ever since.”

  I understood what made Carter so anxious, why he practiced in secret. “He dances so well, I wouldn’t have guessed he'd been injured years ago. Especially not so badly.”

  “Like I said, his inner passion and drive is something to appreciate. I wish he'd embrace his confidence and dance again like he wanted to.”

  Shifting on the cool cement, I turned so I could see his reaction. “He's going to perform with us.”

  Vince's eyebrows went as high as possible. “What? Are you sure?”

  Thinking of Carter's blood drained face, then how he'd driven off in a fury, I nodded. “He will. Yes.” He promised me. I felt unconditionally confident.

  The director was eyeing me curiously. “Does that have anything to do with all these questions into his past?”

  “Yeah. Thank you for talking to me, I think... I think I understand Mr. Braeburn much better now.”

  Chuckling gently, he leaned back and stared up into the wide stretch of night sky. “I'm glad I could help. I look forward to him performing, if anyone deserves another chance at dancing for the world again, it's Carter.”

  I couldn't agree more.

  - Chapter Twelve -

  Carter Braeburn

  Gravity had no power over me. I swam in exhilaration, let the feeling control my body. Dancing alone in the studio was like running in circles, it never allowed me to grow, but that had been good enough for me.

  Everything changed when Noel asked me to perform.

  On cue my knee had begun throbbing. Locking eyes with Noel, I felt her belief in me—her genuine encouragement. She was pleading with me to do this.

  In front of the students, I'd filled myself with what confidence I had, pushed down the barbed thorns stabbing in my scar, and forced myself to leap across the stage. It had been a challenge of my determination.

  As challenging as my moments alone with Noel.

  It had happened. I'd actually done it; spun in front of rows of empty seats, imagined them full of gawking people. Nothing could have been so wonderful...

  And so emotionally crushing.

  I'd known the instant I'd finished, breathing heavy and staring into the wide eyes of my class, that I needed to do it again. I needed to coat myself in the rush. I wanted nothing more than to perform in this Theater. In contrast, the knowledge of what it meant left me frozen inside.

  I have a chance to reach my peak again. An actual, solid fucking chance. It meant so much to me. But the reality was bleak. If I messed up, I'd ruin it for myself all over again. I didn't have the strength to crawl back out of the choking desolation if that happened.

  Fucking up put everyone at a risk.

  It put Noel at risk.

  My promise to do what I could to help... I'd meant it. I never imagined it could lead to something so important. Life loved to throw curve-balls.

  The next morning I asked the class if they would allow me to be included in the lineup. Almost all of them were enthusiastic... except for one.

  Valerie. I didn't know her well, not personally. I only knew her skill level. The red-head was nothing compared to Noel. Disgust radiated from her, I caught her glaring at us when we rehearsed.

  It didn't matter. The majority vote was in my favor.

  The days ran together for me after that. I was happily lost in the world of ballet, pushing my body to a limit it hadn't experienced in years. Most of the time, I wasn't satisfied with my steps. My old wound was holding me back.

  Regardless, it was decadent to dance with people watching me again.

  Cally had taken over all of the planning. She shifted into coach-mode, correcting the students—even me. The first time she did it, tapping my arm to suggest I curve it out more, I glared at her in disbelief. She didn't back down. I was impressed.

  Letting her take charge was fine. It gave me more time to focus on my movements... to narrow in on my routine with Noel.

  It had happened naturally. Cally had originally plotted out the show so that we'd open with a group number, then rotate through each person's solo. Cally, observing Noel and I as we partnered, came forward with the idea.

  “Pas de deux,” she said, tapping her notebook. “It'll look beautiful, really make the show stand out.”

  There were no arguments. One pair of eyes scowled, but Valerie had become a background feature to me by then.

  That time was Heaven for me. I was allowed to caress the girl I was obsessed with while still following her 'rules.' The dance needed to have life, passion; Cally kept insisting we put our hearts into it.

  I wanted to put more than that inside of Noel.

  On that wide stage I flipped her, caught her and twirled. We were in perfect sync, each knee bend or fluttering jump executed with ease. She was grinning, wrapped up in the energy and freed from her shackles of worry. No one could say what we were doing was inappropriate. We could touch each other, feel our heavy breaths, and anyone who looked on would think we were just rehearsing.

  Clapping filled the air. It thundered in my head and made my blood electric. Even my tongue was tingling.

  I could never get enough of t
his girl, or of dancing.

  Now I got to have both.

  ****

  “You want to do what?” I laughed.

  Noel was tugging me down the street. It was late on a Sunday, our bodies sore from days straight of ballet. Both of us were dressed in street clothes. She'd slid herself into a form fitting pink blouse and a fluttery white skirt. I had on my normal jeans, a short-sleeved black shirt stretching across my chest.

  Yanking me harder, she winked. “I want to celebrate with you and have a drink.”

  “Celebrate what?” I'd stopped fighting, linking hands and strolling beside her. Looking down, I could see the top of her head, mahogany hair flowing in loose waves.

  Carefully, she guided us around a busy crowd. “It's a surprise. I'll tell you after.”

  “After what?”

  “After we get our first drink!” she said, shoving me playfully.

  Reaching down, I placed a possessive hand on her hip. It pushed us together, and I took great joy in the pink it brought to her cheeks. We walked like this, heading further into the city. Noel took charge, her French skills impressing me.

  Climbing out of a metro station, the air tugging at our clothes, I saw where we were. The canals filled my nose; brine and piss. Lifting an eyebrow, I allowed her to lead us to a bar further up the street. “Why here?” I asked, gesturing at the water.

  “This part is for me,” she said slyly. “I always wanted to have a drink near the canals.”

  The building was rustic, it felt like a dive bar. We took a table in the corner, a waitress bringing us menus. Noel ordered a beer; I joined her. With cold drinks in our fists, I clinked my glass on hers. “Okay, first drink. Time to tell me what you wanted to celebrate.”

  A smile lit up her beautiful face. “Happy birthday!”

  I spit out some of my beer. “What?” Wiping my mouth, I waited for her to respond. She looked both proud and nervous. “Noel, why do you think today is my birthday?”

  “I don't actually know if it is.” She took a swig of her drink. “But, you told me way back in January that you were turning twenty-two in May. So, I took a gamble. How close was I?”